


Many (happy) returns

by insanityintensifies



Series: What happens in Valinor? [1]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Defeat, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Dry Humping, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eönwë is more righteous than this, Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, Leather Kink, M/M, Mairon in Valinor, Orgasm Control, Post-Defeat Sauron, Post-Movie(s), Redemption, Self-Doubt, Verbal Humiliation, but it works - Freeform, not his usual methods
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-04-01
Packaged: 2018-10-13 06:08:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10507845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insanityintensifies/pseuds/insanityintensifies
Summary: The Ring is destroyed. Sauron's power was unmade, and he shall never rise againMost elves have sailed to Valinor. The dominion of men has begun.But what happens outside of Middle Earth? What happens in Valinor?





	

Eönwë isn't only the best in arms in Valinor, as Manwës herald and right hand he is also responsible for everything running smoothly. But ever since the release of the Maia once known as Mairon to him and as Sauron to the world the smooth running of the realm has been disturbed immensely.

Ever since Mairon had been captured, after the destruction of the ring, there had been something wrong with him. In the beginning, when the Maia had been held in a dark and hidden part of Namo's halls the Herald had assumed it was because it took the Lord of Death a great deal of time to find all the pieces of the former Maia's shattered hröa and even more time to put him back together.

But even after that was done, even after Mairon had been patched up and the council of the Valar had allowed him to come out and walk in Ariens light again, even then there had been something wrong with him. It wasn't just defeat that clouded his features. Features that Eönwë remembered from Ages ago. Features that looked more like the Mairon he had known from before the elves had woken before he had followed Melkor than the destroyed and disgusting Dark Lord he had been in the end. The only thing that was different about him was his hair. Red and shining, once one of his most distinctive features it was now dull and grey, lifeless.

Eönwë had pledged to look out for him. To make sure everyone was safe from him and he wouldn't be hurt by anyone either.

Now Mairon was standing in front of his desk, his clenched fists and tense shoulders in stark contrast to his neutral expression. He had his gaze cast to the floor, unwilling to meet the Herald’s disappointed expression.

"Thirty-five casualties." Manwë's banner-bearer stated calmly. "Any explanation you want to give me, _Mairon_?"

He doesn't look up, only shakes his head slowly, barely noticeable.

Eönwë takes a deep breath, this is by far the first time something has happened and there is an edge in his voice when he continues, held back anger almost coming through.

"You _burned_ thirty-five people. Maia and elves alike. Some of them severely. You set fire to a plane of Yavanna's gardens. Animals got hurt, creations of her own hand. Two of her trees and dozens of flowers burned to the ground." The papyrus which holds several witness-accounts are scribbled down is almost pulverized by the force the Herald crumbles it with.

"Innocent beings with third-degree burns, so much time and energy spent on the gardens, ruined. In one second. Just because you can't _control yourself._ " At the end, Eönwë's voice rose and this time Mairon winces.

But he still doesn't move. He can hear the Herald's chair being pushed back as Eönwë stands. The Maia's palms are flat on the desk's wooden surface as he leans forward, staring at Mairon not only with anger but mostly with disappointment. "Get. To. Your. Knees. _Now_."

Without hesitation, Mairon drops to his knees, crossing his wrists behind his back. He keeps his head bowed before the Herald, even though his eyes would only be at Eönwë's knees should he look straight ahead now.

But Eönwë knows him well enough. The way his shoulders are drawn in, the way his hands are still balled into fists behind his back give away that he is in no way as apologetic as he should be. Not yet anyway. He lets his eyes wander over Mairon's body. He has changed over the months, regained his strength. His body, when he had first set foot outside of Namo's halls, had resembled that of a corpse more than a living being. His bones had been showing under almost see through pale skin. His face had been fallen in and his clothes had hung on him like a bed sheet.

Now he was filling them nicely, his skin was still pale, but healthy and his freckles had gotten their colour back. The dark red tunic he's wearing stretches over his arms and draws Eönwë's eyes to his chest. Still, an odd thing to see Mairon's chest heaving, seeing him trying to get his breathing under control. Ainur don't breathe, but he has been less of a Maia ever since his fall.

Eönwë's rounds the table, posture straight as ever and stands before Mairon, tall and proud, majestic even without his uniform.

"Your behaviour is intolerable." Eönwë scolds him, the same ounce of disappointment in his voice as before. "You were given freedom. You can walk about Valinor, do whatever you like with only very few restrictions, with nothing you had to do to redeem yourself for what you've done. And this is how you treat it."

He takes a step closer, bringing himself into Mairon's field of sight even though he's still staring at the ground. "When I took responsibility for you I would never have thought it would be such a hazardous endeavour." He can see Mairon's left arm twitching, but the Maia doesn't move. "You are not even trying."

Again Mairon's arm twitches. The Herald smirks. There is one thing that never fails to get a reaction out of the other Maia. He had discovered it when he had compared him to a human shortly after he had taken responsibility for him when he had seen what kind of a body Namo had given him.

"You want to be _punished_." Mairon can't stifle the moan and his cheeks heat up as he shifts on the floor. A bulge is forming in his pants and there is no way Eönwë can miss it. It's too easy, Mairon thinks, too easy for Eönwë to bring him to this, a moaning, blushing heap on the floor, at his feet, ready and willing to do anything the Herald asks, just to gain his approval again.

"You're doing this on purpose." Eönwë continues and it sparks something in Mairon. "That you're disappointing me just to get my cock as a punishment."

It wasn't his usual way to handle things, but he had quickly noticed that it was the only thing that _worked_ , the only thing Mairon _wanted_. He can hear the other open his mouth, but he suffocates any reply that the other could come up within the bud. "Don't insult me by denying it. It's obvious how much you want me to fill your mouth, to feel your lips stretched over my cock, how much you love it when you're bend over my desk, reduced to nothing but a panting and moaning mess, _begging_ me to fuck you until you can't stand anymore."

It would have been figuratively, but ever since Mairon had come back he was weaker, bound to a body of flesh. "But not today, Mairon." He can see the other Maia tense up again at those words, can see him fidget on the floor, writhing his hands together in uncomfortableness.

Mairon feels like he's getting hotter by the second, it's a feeling not unlike the feeling he gets before he bursts into flames, but ever so slightly different. Arousal is coiling in the pit of his stomach. The coldness of the floor has his skin breaking out in goosebumps, a feeling he's still not completely accustomed to. The tiny hairs on his neck and arms are standing up and finally, finally, he dares to look up to Eönwë, to lock eyes with him.

"Eönwë, I... I'm sorry... I tried..."

 

Eönwë's hand is threading through his hair, yanking his head to the site and the sting of his skull cuts him off mid-sentence. Mairon moans, half from arousal, half from pain and confusion. He can see the satisfaction in Eönwë's eyes. The other Maia squats down in front of him, his eyes roaming over Mairon's body and a shiver runs up his spine when his eyes flicker up to meet the others and he can see the Heralds almost predatory expression. He remembers it, if only faintly, from a time thousands of years ago.

"Clearly, my cock down your throat isn't punishment enough. Choking around me obviously doesn't show you clearly enough where your place is." Eönwë's warm breath ghosts over his face and somewhere in the back of his mind Mairon remembers that it's a show he puts on for him. Ainur don't 'breathe'. Only he does. More heat seems to spread through him, he's burning inside.

"The marks you carry under your clothes from when I fuck you, the bruises I leave on your skin when I _punish_ you..." With the mention of that word again he shivers. "I know you touch them when you are alone, I know you think back to how it felt when I gave them to you when you were _begging_ for them."

Mairon's response is an undignified whimper. His cheeks flush and Eönwë can see him opening his mouth to attempt a reply just before he yanks on his hair once more. Again the other Maia whimpers he's not sure whether it's tears of desperation wetting his eyes, or something more?

He looks him over and sees his cock twitch under his gaze, pressing against his trousers and creating an obvious bulge there. When he looks up again he can see Mairon's tongue dart out and wet his lips, his eyes dark with desire. It's a little unnerving in contrast to the fire usually burning in them. When Mairon breathes out Eönwë notices its not just simple desire burning inside the other, it's need. 

Letting go of Mairon's hair Eönwë hesitates for a fraction of a moment, then shoves him backwards, causing the other Maia to lose his balance and fall back onto the floor with a gasp that again, sounds so very unlike him.

Mairon catches himself before his head hits the ground and pushes himself up onto his elbows, shifting his weight to get his legs out from under his body he spreads them to relieve at least some of the pressure his pants are putting on his cock. Then he leans back a little, letting out an unsteady breath, still not daring to look up when Eönwe stands up and comes a step closer.

 

“Look at you.” There’s something in the Herald’s voice that he can’t quite put his finger on. (It’s affection, but he would never think of that.) “So needy.” He’s standing between his knees now and another shiver runs down his spine, he wants to throw himself at his feet, grab his leg and worship him, show him he’s sorry in a way he knows how to do. He wants to abase himself at the Herald’s feet, polish the pure white and gold of his boots with his tongue, cowering on the floor until he is forgiven, until the last person who still thinks there is something good in him will believe in him again. Instead, he doesn’t move, stares holes into the ground, his cheeks burning with shame.

“You’re a mess, Mairon. A shadow of yourself, wanting to be reduced to what is really left of you.” Eönwë’s words cut deep, find that dark place inside him which he tries so hard to keep hidden. They tear it open, make him feel everything he’s tried to suppress because he is right. There isn’t much left of him, of the powerful Maia he once was. He has no purpose anymore, nothing to work towards, nothing but time on his hands and he doesn’t know how to spend it. What is left are animalistic urges and needs he has always been in control of, but now they seem to control him.

When Eönwe presses the tips of his boot against the base of his trapped erection and then rubs it along his length Mairon moans loudly, his head falling back and for the first time he looks up at the Herald, his eyes big and pleading, but he bites his lip.

Eönwë tuts “It always starts out like this, Mairon, doesn’t it. You try to look all innocent, but in the end, you are loose and used.Is that what you want? Is that why you keep failing me?”

“Eönwë…” Mairon pants, his voice cracked and broken. He feels so hot, his body is tingling and his mind starts to cloud like a fog is settling inside his head. Spreading his palms on the cold floor he raises his hips to compensate for the others ineffectual caresses.

Eönwë stares down on the Maia writhing on his floor, feeling half proud and half uneasy that he can turn him into this. That he is denying him what Mairon wants; to be bend over his table and fucked rough enough to forget about anything around him. Maybe even be loud enough so others will know what they are doing, what Eönwë does to keep him under control.

With the tip of his boot, Eönwë continues to rub along the length of Mairon’s cock in rough movements, feeling him buck his hips into it, desperate for solid contact, rather than the almost teasing touch that the Herald provides him with.

Shifting his weight Mairon takes one of his hands off the floor, bringing it to the bulge in his pants, but Eönwë kicks his hand away almost brutally before he has even touched himself properly. “Don’t you dare!” Eönwë reprimands him like he is talking to one of his soldiers and again Mairon whimpers.

 

“Please… Eönwë… I need you… I need to get off…” The words come out breathy in his shame and a predatory shine fills the Herald’s eyes. He pulls his boot away from the others arching length and steps back.

“I won’t do anything to ‘get you off’, Mairon.” He explains coldly and watches the other's expression turn into a sad frown full of need. “You haven’t earned that. You failed me, yet again. Frankly, you don’t deserve to come at all, but if you have to, I suggest you work for it.”

The Herald leans back against his table, spreading his legs shoulder-width apart and planting one foot firmly on the ground while the other is tipped back casually. Mairon looks down from his face to his legs, frowning more and apparently confused. When he turns his gaze up again and catches Eönwë’s impatient expression his Adam’s apple bobs with a slow swallow before he awkwardly pushes himself back up and shuffles forward.

He can feel Eönwë’s eyes on him, following his every move, watching him slowly come to the realization of what he wants from him.

“Eönwë?” Mairon asks, looking up to him with wide eyes, unease apparent in his posture, but his arousal hasn’t gone down in the least.

“Go on.” Eönwë encourages him, his voice almost too soft. “Get yourself off.”

 _‘Like the animal you are.’_ Sounds in Mairon’s head, even though none of it was said.

 

With a groan of shameful arousal, the former dark Maia straddles the Heralds leg until he’s practically sitting on it, his cock pressed against Eönwë’s leg. Almost immediately the urge to rub himself against him takes hold of his mind, overriding any pride he might have had left. He’s desperate for any friction he can get.

It doesn’t take long for him to work up a rhythm. Every time he rolls his hips the entirety of his length slides along the other’s leg, against the leather of his white boot. Too pure, too clean, the gold around the rim of the shaft of the boot mocking him when he looks at it. So he closes his eyes, still humping his fellow Maia’s leg, moaning with the shame of it.

Eönwë closes his eyes for a moment, not daring to look down as he savours the heat radiating from Mairon’s body, his hardness being pushed against his leg, the wetness from his precum, staining his trousers being rubbed into the leather of his boot

Regardless of the hindering clothing between them, the roughness as it slides against his sensitive cock, all Mairon can concentrate on is the friction he is getting, the promise of relief, however shameful and however short it may be. He starts to buck his hips harder, grind his erection more into Eönwë’s calf.

Strong enough to entice Eönwë to grind his leg back a little in tune with Mairon’s desperate humps. “So desperate for it.” He croons. “You want it so badly, don’t you?”

“Yes, yes Eönwë, please…” Mairon whines in response, moving his hands from where he had kept them crossed behind his back, like he had been taught, up to the Herald’s leg, wrapping them around his thigh, his fingers digging into the cloth of Eönwë’s trousers and into the flesh underneath.

“Look at me, Mairon.”

He obeys, looking up at Eönwë with an almost feral look of need in his eyes, pupils blown so wide there is barely any of his iris left and he continues to grind against the Herald’s leg, his desperation written all over him.

“Pathetic.” Eönwë snarls and he can sense something break inside of the other, knows he has to push it further still. “Just look at how desperate you are. This… This is what you are best at. I should forbid you from ever leaving my grounds again, or better yet, from going outside at all. I should keep you locked away in here, tie you to my desk and use you whenever I please. Make you _beg_ for my attention.”

“Yes!” Mairon answers in a high pitched voice, only faltering in his rhythm a little. “Yes, only yours, for your pleasure, use me, make me useful again…”

 

Eönwë shrugs, the knot that had formed in his stomach with the others previous reply only tightening. “Mhmm… or maybe I should keep you by my side at all times. Put you on a leash like a pet. Spread you wide whenever I please and fuck you in front of everyone who might be watching. Show them what you have come to be. But you would love that, wouldn’t you? For everyone to know what a slut you are, how you moan when my cock is inside you, how you beg and cry for me to keep going until you’re covered in your filth until my come is dripping out of you.”

Mairon bites his lip, presses his forehead against Eönwë’s thigh while he’s speaking, rubs his cheek against the fabric once he stopped.

“Don’t hide it from me, Mairon. Let me see what you want. Let me hear your need.”

Again Mairon does as he’s told and stops biting the inside of his lip. Now quiet moans and gasps fill the air, sounding louder than they are in the otherwise completely silent room. The wet noises his soaked pants make every time humps against Eönwë’s shin make his skin burn anew. Every movement gives him a little relief, relief from the pressure in his gut, but it is something else he is craving. The touch of Eönwë’s hands, the stretch from his cock inside him, the indescribable feeling of him pounding into him…

 

“To think that your name once struck fear into millions,” Eönwë says with something akin to amusement in his voice (but it is not amusement as much as it is disbelief) “When you are here, right now, rutting against me like a depraved animal, imagining me stretching you open and fucking you until you are screaming my name. _My_ name, Mairon… And you called yourself Lord of Middle Earth. Pathetic.”

“Eönwë… Eönwë… I need… Need to come… Eönwë, please…” Mairon sobs, tears spilling from his eyes, his rhythm is failing, he feels himself burning with shame, with need, with desperation. His mind is clouded and his emotions are uncontained now, everything is running wild inside his head.

“Are you going to be good for me, Mairon? Or are you going to fail me again?” Eönwë does his best to keep his mind cold, controlled, but inside he is strung tight, maybe he has taken it too far?

“I’ll be good! Eönwë, I’ll be good for you, I’ll be anything you want. Everything. Please…” Again he presses his forehead against his thigh, but this time to ground himself, he won’t disappoint Eönwë again, so he waits for the Herald’s permission.

“Come for me, Mairon,” Eönwe says softly, keeping his leg stiff, but what follows is a command again. “Now.”

Mairon’s entire body tenses, then a shiver runs through him when he comes in his trousers. The feeling of hot seed spilling into his pants and soaking them completely spirals his shame high again. He cries out loudly, hugging Eönwë’s leg tight and presses his face against his thigh. Even after his orgasm he is shaking, breathing heavily and not letting go of the other's leg.

Only after a few moments, he got to calm himself a little the Herald shakes him off, pulls his leg back and makes him sit back on the floor.

Eyes only half open Mairon looks up to Eönwë, trying to find words, trying to say or do _anything_.

 

Finally, a very quiet “I’m sorry…” Falls from his lips, almost a whisper, but he manages to hold Eönwë’s gaze through it.

“I didn’t mean… I didn’t want to harm them. They taunted me… I lost control… I…” He loses sight of the Herald as tears cloud his vision and his body sags, his chest almost touches his own thighs as he's cowering on the floor, his hair is falling around his face and he is sobbing like an elfling, uncaring of the slowly cooling patch at the front of his groin that is now pressed against his oversensitive member.

Blindly he reaches out, reaches forward and grabs hold of the other's ankle, the same leg he had been humping, and rests his forehead on the top of his shoe. When it moves he flinches, expecting to be pushed away, to be kicked and taunted, but instead there is warmth over him.

Now that the heat of arousal is gone he feels cold, so incredibly cold on the floor, he misses the fire. But when Eönwë touches him now he’s warm and the touches are soft. Mairon feels being picked up from the floor and then Eönwë’s arms are wrapped around him, holding him close to his chest. He’s still sobbing and his body is shaking, tears are falling onto the Herald’s skin, soaking his robes and tunic, but Eönwë doesn’t let go of him.

“I… I can’t do this…” Mairon chokes out, “I have nothing to do… I can’t…” He knows he’s clinging to Eönwë’s robes, crumpling the fine fabric with his hands. “I’m useless… They won’t… I’m not even allowed near any forge… I... “ But there his voice breaks again and he rests his forehead against the other’s shoulder, his eyes pressed shut and only focused on the solid warmth of Eönwë’s body.

 

Eönwë holds him close, doesn’t loosen his grip on him in the slightest, hoping to give his Mairon a little of his own strength. He isn’t the Maia he knew as _Mairon_ anymore, the one whose back is always straight, whose eyes are burning and full of passion and sometimes (most of the times) held back fury, who burned for what he did, always gave himself to the course he had picked.

There is no fire left inside him, his eyes are dull in their greyness and he feels so small and vulnerable in his arms. No, this Mairon is a mess to be put into order, he has to be directed and cared for. But the way he clings to him Eönwë knows that even while he isn’t the Mairon he once knew and loved, he’s still _his_ Mairon. Even though he can’t see it for himself.

Slowly stroking his back the Herald makes plans to talk to Manwë, it can’t go on like this. The Vala act generously by not punishing Mairon for his deeds, but this, Eönwë realizes, is worse than any other torture they could have come up with. It’s not saving him, or anyone else, it’s destroying him, little by little, piece by piece until nothing will be left. He knows Mairon’s mind. It always at work, always racing and when it doesn’t have anything to do, like now, it turns on itself.

Given more time the once strong, powerful Maia will be nothing but an empty shell, desperate for any attention and affection he can get, there will be nothing left of his once brilliant intellect, nothing of the _person_ Mairon.

That cannot be the solution. Eönwë simply won’t accept it. He has to talk to Manwë, there has to be another way. _Any_ other way.

 

But right now he stays where he is because that is where Mairon needs him.

**Author's Note:**

> These Characters belong to J.R.R. Tolkien
> 
> Find me on tumblr! [@insanityintensifies](https://insanityintensifies.tumblr.com/)


End file.
